Sing Once Again With Me
by Komiko
Summary: AU: Everyone knows the story of the young soprano and her Angel of Music. But for Christine Daae those childhood stories are now nothing more than a distant memory. Until now.


A/N: Well, hey there. I believe you've stumbled onto my first and, most likely, last POTO fanfic. No seriously. I love POTO, I really do, but it's not the category I write for. This plot bunny just happened to stumble in my head, so I decided to write it. Anyway, the basic plot asks (and answers) the question 'what if all the characters were reincarnated?' So expect some OOC-ness out of all the characters, especially Christine, Erik, and Meg. And I didn't particularly proofread this, so I apologize for any misspellings and whatnot. Hmm, anything else? Oh, right.

Disclaimer: If I owned POTO, Erik would _so_ be my Angel of Music.

All right, on with the story!

----

Sing Once Again With Me

Chapter 1: Dreams and Punctuality

--

__

In sleep he sang to me…

She felt herself being pulled along a staircase.

__

In dreams he came…

The hand tugged persistently, forcing her body to move when her instincts were screaming not to.

__

That voice which calls to me…

Yet her heart…

__

And speaks my name…

Down they went. Down down down down…

--

Christine Daae woke up in a cold sweat. Breathing heavily, she stayed snuggled in the comfort of her blankets, reassuring herself that she was indeed in her room and not in the shadowed hallway that she had been seeing in her dreams ever since she could remember.

It was always the same; no more, no less. And for the life of her, she could never see who was guiding her, not even a glimpse. Well, sometimes she could swear that she could feel the swish of a long, black cloak. But that could just be her imagination. Which didn't make much sense since it was her dream. _Ow…I think that's too much complicated thinking so early in the morning. What time is it anyway?_ The blonde-but-naturally-brunette woman lazily reached out to turn her alarm clock so she could read it.

"Shit!"

--

"5, 4, 3, 2…"

Christine rushed in the doorway, hair and clothes flying wildly.

"One," the brown-haired man finished. "Good job, Christine. You're only ten minutes late today. I think that's a record."

Christine winced.

"I am so sorry, Raoul. You know I am. But my—"

"Dreams. Yes, I know. But you know how we strive for perfection here. If one person slacks, it reflects upon the rest of the staff," Raoul scolded, brows firmly set over his brown eyes.

Christine hung her head. "I'm sorry." She felt a pair of warm, strong arms encircle her and she instinctively leaned into them.

"That's all right," Raoul whispered softly, "You try your best. As long as Andre and Firmin never find out, you're safe."

"Thank you," she whispered back, content in her best friend's arms until—

"Hey you two! No PDA!"

—her other best friend interrupted the moment. The couple jumped apart, blushing, as Meg Giry, reining gossip queen, walked up.

"You are so evil." Christine glared at the smiling blonde.

"Aww, what's the matter? Did I interrupt a tender moment?"

"Why would you think that?" Raoul, too, glared at the perky Meg.

"I don't know. You two looked pretty cozy back there," she said, that all-too-familiar smirk in place.

"Meg, I swear, you have been trying to get us together since the third grade. Give it up already!"

And with that parting remark, Christine stomped towards her office.

"Hey, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was warming up to the idea."

"Good thing you _don't_ know any better." Raoul sent one last glare in the smirking woman's direction before heading off to the same area. Meg merely shook her head.

--

"Whee…"

Christine whirled around in her chair, already bored to tears and it wasn't even lunchtime. She had joined the field of journalism in order to write riveting, awe-inspiring stories. _Not_ to be stuck in an office, doing boring office work eight hours a day, five days a week. If there was such a thing as the bottom of the barrel, this was it.

It wouldn't bother her so much if the two owners of _News Today_, Andre and Firmin, would just give her a chance. But no. _All_ the top stories went to their star journalist, Carlotta Giudicelli, some Italian prodigy. Her stories weren't even that great, in her humble opinion. It was just insane, how much everyone fawned over Carlotta. Sickening, even. While Carlotta's stories made front page, she (Christine) was stuck working her ass off just to write something for the obituaries. Life sucked sometimes. Really, the only high points were her two best friends, Raoul and Meg, Meg's mother Madame Giry (no one could quite figure out why people called her Madame), and, of course, her cute little black kitten, Ginger, that had been left on her doorstep one afternoon (it had been love at first sight).

On the other hand, she had known Raoul and Meg ever since second grade, when she had moved to Paristown with her father. He was dead now, but the trio, including Meg's mother, had been very close to him. She and Meg had even speculated that he and Madame Giry had been closer than they had let on, leading on to the fact that Madame Giry treated Christine as her own daughter. Still, it could just be their wild imaginations running rampant. At any rate, she, Raoul, and Meg were the best of friends, no matter how much Meg taunted that Raoul was 'more than a friend'. There was nothing between them. Honestly. So what if maybe they hugged excessively. Best friends hugged, didn't they? Perfectly natural. Meg just didn't know what she was talking about.

However, one thing that did trouble her was her strange dreams. No matter how many times she puzzled over them with Raoul and Meg, or how many times to went to a dream analyst, they never made any sense. But what made the _least_ sense was that even though the dreams were creepy, she felt inexplicably drawn to them. She couldn't explain it, but there was just something so compelling that she often found herself wishing to go to sleep in order to visit her little dreamworld. And they came. Every night. And they were always so clear, almost as if they weren't dreams, but part of a memory instead…

"Hey spacecase."

Christine jumped out of her chair.

"I didn't know your thoughts were _that_ interesting," Meg teased. Christine merely grumbled something incomprehensible.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Anyway, the head dipshits want to see you in their office."

Christine blinked. "What?"

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Looks like your lateness is catching up with you. I bet the squealer was our favorite bitch," Meg rolled her eyes, "Man, if you get in trouble, she's going _down_."

Christine smiled, but her eyes were now slightly dimmed and glazed. Meg, going into supportive mode, instantly softened.

"Hey, I'm sure it won't be that bad. I mean, you're like the picture of innocence. No _way_ will they fire you."

"Thanks, Meg. I wasn't really thinking that way, but…"

The two shared a short and forced laugh. Meg quickly crossed to where Christine was standing and gave her distraught friend a fierce hug.

"Don't worry. The worst you'll get is a slap on the hand."

"Really?" The blue eyes were hopeful yet disbelieving.

"Really truly. Now go in there with your head held high and show those two that you're not afraid of them," Meg said as she pushed Christine out of her office.

----

A/N: Weird, I know. And short. Sorry about that. Just wait till Erik and Christine meet. Which will actually be in chapter 4. Hopefully.


End file.
